Hallucination
by daisyjohnson
Summary: "Do you have it?" Missing moment from my 'Anchor Me Back Down' AU. Michi.


**Hallucination**

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 **Summary:** "Do you have it?"  
Missing moment from my 'Anchor Me Back Down' AU. Michi.

 _ **Warnings:** It's smut. _

_**Author's Note:** As usual, this is a new segment for my other work, "Anchor Me Back Down" _ (s/11451972/1/Anchor-Me-Back-Down) _, I'm sure it's not necessary to have read that before this because, well, this is just smut, but if you decide to check AMBD out, I'll be very happy.  
_ _This takes place some time after segment XIX, in the big span of time we have before the epilogue.  
I just want to add that this is my first time trying to write somehow explicit smut, and I realize that maybe it's not the way you'd want smut to be, but I really tried my best to keep it realistic. Thank you for reading and reviewing my fics, it really gives me a lot of joy to see that this universe I created is getting such a good feedback.  
I also want to thank my friend Nubri aka my newfound beta for checking this out and giving me great advice in general, thank you so much.  
_ _Lastly, if anyone knows the author of the art I used as a cover, please tell me who they are cause I had the pic saved for the longest time but I don't remember where I got it from, and I really want to give credit.  
Oh, and happy holidays! x __  
_

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XX.

They're cautious.

Which is surprising really, when you think about the kind of people they are.

It's not that they had agreed on not telling the others what's going on, not really. And it's not like they had even tried to talk about what's happening, either. It's not for them to confront each other to, out of everything, label things.

Instead, they've come up with a plan. And it's actually a pretty good one, considering things have gone pretty smoothly up until now.

She visits them whenever her university schedule permits her, and the fact that she's always been around a lot helps the thing - whatever it is that's going on - greatly. She makes sure he's not alone at home at first, but that he will be after a while.

Yamato's band meetings. Koushiro's tutoring. Jyou's apprenticeship at the hospital. Every scheduled business that gives them the certainty that his flatmates are going to be gone from home for some hours.

So nobody gets suspicious, and they all keep acting as they have for the past couple of months. Except that when he's around there's electricity in the air, and it only takes the brush of his fingertips against her hip as she's walking past him to go fetch a new bottle of water to take her to a place only they know, and she's glad her head is stuck in the fridge and not facing eleven other faces when flashes of previous afternoons spent in his company fill her mind.

"Hey Mimi, is there some soda left?"

She turns to face Daisuke, who's just asked; she shakes her head lightly, pursing her lips. Her gaze travels from him to the older guy sitting next to him, his arm laying on top of the back of the chair where she was sitting not long before. Even if they're roughly three years apart, Daisuke is still lacking that mature look Taichi already had when he was nineteen; his face is more round, his cheeks still somehow chubby and his smile so bright, like sunshine. She remembers that time he'd even tried to imitate Taichi's haircut, resulting in a complete failure because, it turns out, the mess that Taichi's hair is is somehow not replicable.

Daisuke had blamed his hair being too thin and straight. Taichi, his one of a kind beauty.

Daisuke's hair is messy in a way that Taichi's never was. It's spiky and it has that maroon shade under the right light that makes everyone recognize him instantly. Just as she'd instantly recognize the warm brown tone of Taichi's hair, but that's beyond the point.

He has it pulled back in a bun he's taken a liking to wear lately. She doesn't complain. It looks good on him (she's asked herself if she hasn't just become too biased on everything that has to do with him, but she's resolved that this isn't the case, since he still manages to drive her insane on a daily basis), so good she's okay with him shaving his stubble if that means keeping the man bun.

Taichi's strong edges and defined lines, aggressive even. It's not an ordinary beauty, not like Yamato's anyway. He's rough, imperfect, his eyebrows a bit too bushy if you take the time to notice, his ears just a little protruding. He sits like nothing can drag him down, wide smile illuminating the room as he makes one of his jokes that earn a scowl from Koushiro's side, legs parted and his back leaning against the chair, left arm still waiting for her to come back.

She thinks he's the most beautiful thing.

She still lets her head lean on his outstretched arm when she takes her seat back, not worrying about the others, because this is something she would've done before too. It'd be more alarming if they didn't have physical contact, so they keep the facade up.

She feels him daring as he places a hand on her thigh, hidden under the table, squeezing the spot and sending a tingling feeling all over her, but never turning around to look into her eyes. Just as she doesn't turn to him, instead opting for asking Miyako, who's sitting right across the table from her, something that Taichi doesn't register.

"You don't know the effect you have on me." She'd said one time, not long ago. He hadn't replied, but she was so wrong thinking so. He'd always been aware of how her cheeks would flush pink when he'd whisper something in her ear, of how her lips would slightly part and her thoughts trail off into memories as he'd talk to her about something he himself didn't care about either. That time he'd answered her by kissing her hungrily, pinning her down on his bed and not letting her go.

He'd felt her hips lift up and crush against his, the pressure making him more eager to have her instead of easing the need. He'd pushed his weight down on her and she'd put her legs around him to grant him better contact and it had been then that he'd realized how wrong she'd been. How it was her who didn't know the effect she had on him, and not the other way round.

He lets his hand travel up her inner thigh, and gratitude for the person who had invented skirts washes over him. He feels her freeze, the muscles of her legs shake slightly, or maybe not at all, as he outlines the edges of her underwear, only hovering over her warmer spot in such a light way she's left wondering if she's dreaming about this or if Taichi is really teasing her.

So she repositions herself, fixing the chair better under the table, her elbows on the surface, head leaning on her hand. She takes a look at him, but only meets the back of his head since he's still talking to the boys.

She crosses her legs.

That makes him turn. He removes his hand almost lazily, but she can't read his expression: it's too blank, so unlike him. She involuntarily chews lightly on her bottom lip as she wonders for the the umpteenth time why it's still so difficult for her to guess what's going on in his head. Something lights up in his eyes as his glance falls on her lips, and his own curl up on one side, offering her the hint of an eerie smile.

Her head tilts to the side and she wonders what is it with him, but she never speaks up. He arches up his eyebrows, giving her a silent answer she doesn't know how to decipher, and she lets it go.

"What was that about?" She asks him later when she's laying on the couch, both arms stretched up holding her phone over her face; she's waiting for him to join her, but he's still taking distracted steps around the small hall area that's between the kitchen and the living room. "And what are you even doing?" She goes on, though not that interested in his answer.

He lifts a hand up and freezes in front of the door, just in time to hear three quick knocks resonating in the room. He leans his head over the direction of the living room just to show her a smug expression before unlocking the door.

"Forgot the fedora."

Takeru doesn't stop to greet Taichi after he crosses the entrance, instead he surpasses him and dives into the corridor, covering it in a couple of quick steps as he reaches the first door on the right. He exits Yamato and Jyou's room in no time, his hat now safe on top of his head, and his cheeks are pink from the hurry and, Taichi presumes, the cold December weather outside.

"Couldn't you wait for Yamato to bring that back to you tomorrow when you see your parents?" Taichi asks him as he follows him back to the hall. "What's with all the emotional attachment anyway, is she your new girlfriend?" He attempts to make fun of him when really, he should know better.

"Is _she_ your new girlfriend?" Takeru backfires, casually leaning against the living room's doorframe. It doesn't take a genius to understand whom he's referring to, and Taichi is glad that Mimi's gotten the clue when he opened the door to pretend like she's sleeping.

"I don't do girlfriends." He's ready to reply without letting his smile fade for a single second. Takeru doesn't even make an attempt at acknowledging what he's just said, he only takes a look at the seemingly asleep Mimi, sprawled on the couch, one arm hanging off it and the other bent over her head, her phone still in her fist.

"How does she look so hot even when she's sleeping like that?" Takeru wonders aloud, but when he finally turns and heads for the front door he doesn't escape a slap on the back of his neck.

"You only did that cause you're jealous." He keeps going, diving down to avoid the second hit that he'd seen coming his way. Takeru's face is painted with a mask of fake innocence when he reaches the exit and faces Taichi again, who can only point a finger his way to silently tell him to get lost, while the other hand rises up in an attempt to scare him. Takeru blinks a couple of times and smiles at him, taking a few steps backwards to get away from him.

"I hope you know I haven't found you frightening in years now." He says at last as he reaches the first step of the staircase. "And good luck coming up with a good excuse to tell the others this time."

Taichi closes the door behind him only after he makes sure Takeru's seen his middle finger shooting up.

"So you don't do girlfriends, huh?"

He finds Mimi standing not far from him in the hall, just before the entrance of the living room. Her hair is messy from having been in that fake sleeping position, parted on the side rather than in the middle as she usually does; he can picture her passing her thin fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her forehead as she straightens herself. One sleeve of the soft cream sweater she's wearing had slipped down her shoulder, leaving her rosy skin to show.

Taichi is about to take a step forward and get to her when she stops him. "Do I really have to remind you to lock the door?" She grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest, which does nothing but let her right sleeve fall even deeper down her arm. His hand is already on the key, turning it inside the lock one, two, three times while he mumbles a: "Will you shut up?"

Mimi considers replying him with the ever cheesy "make me", she really does. She also wonders how come half of the memories she has with him look like they've been taken out of a stupid rom-com, but she looses the thread of her thoughts when she looks up and finds him closer to her than what she'd thought he would be.

He stops only inches away from her, so close she can feel his heat, yet so far she's still not touching him. And suddenly the need of feeling him pervades her and she's left thinking of how she'd managed to keep calm all day today and not reach out to him every time he'd been close to her.

He looks at her challenging, never taking another step to crush against her. She feels him daring her to make the first move, and all of the sudden she doesn't know who's the mouse and who's the cat.

"You haven't answered my question." She stands still, fingers itching telling her to grab his shirt in her hands and pull him to her. "How are you not cold?" She adds absentmindedly, checking out the light red v-neck tee he's wearing, making him chuckle because of how easily distracted she gets. He bends his head down as he giggles, tilting it up again with an arched eyebrow only to find her staring at him with a confused look.

"Because I'm too hot." He replies, and truthfully she should've seen that coming, considering what kind of person is standing in front of her.

"Please." She gets back at him, scolding him playfully. "You and I both know who's the hottest here."

She's leaning with her back against the wall, her chin raised looks like a dare to him to cross the line, and it takes every inch of self control he's got to stay composed and not give in too soon. He leans over ever so slightly, hovering her small figure with his body; he doesn't need to look at her to know how her fingers are gripping the fabric of her wool sweater, she does that every time, and every time the thought of her feeling like this because of him makes him go crazy.

"The answer is no." He whispers in her ear. She can imagine the grin that's spread across his face just by the slightly off tone of his voice and this time he's too close for her not to grab the fabric of his shirt and pull it towards her, even if he's only two breaths away. He puts his right hand against the spot on the wall near her head to steady himself, and she feels his breathing tickling her ear.

"And what do you do?" She replies with the same hushed tone he'd used just moments before. Her eyes are looking up at the ceiling as she speaks, but then his free hand is on her hip, and his lips are pressing against her earlobe and she swears she blacks out for an instant as he gives her his final statement.

"This."

It's smug, and the hand that was already on her hip swiftly travels under her sweater, looking for the waistband of the skirt she's wearing; his fingers are cold when she feels them hooking the elastic band and a shiver of anticipation runs through her. She turns to face him, finding his glance fixed on the spot where his hand is resting, and she tugs at his shirt again, this time more decisive, to gain his attention.

When he looks up, she has a hard look painting her features; it's a look he'd never seen on her before - before situations like this - it's a look he could've never imagined her wearing. It burns him, and it makes him aware that she'd be able to command him to her liking, and he'd gladly compute without questions. He doesn't know if she reserves that look only for him (he doesn't want to know), or if it's a side of her that comes out in certain moments, and maybe Michael or whoever she's been with before him have experienced it too (he really, really doesn't want to know).

His jaw clenches and he's kissing her ear, his fingers unhooking from the waistband to place his hand on her hip. Taichi feels goosebumps on her skin under his touch, and as his lips come down her neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make her heart race faster and faster, she pushes her lower body forward to erase those couple of inches that are still dividing them.

He reacts to her motion by pinning her to the wall with his weight, pressuring with his groin against her; his hand on her skin itches with the need of feeling her more, and he lets his grip get stronger. He's taking a deep breath when she tugs at his tee to make him look at her, and when he does he can only register her biting her lower lip before she's putting both hands on each side of his face and leading him to her mouth.

It's not romantic. It's hungry, and rough, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Not right now, anyway. She parts her lips to catch his between hers and her hands leave his face to roam down his body, feeling his chest under the light fabric of the summer tee and the curve of his toned muscles as she travels down. His kiss is like poison, distracting her momentarily and repeatedly until, in a moment of clarity, she lifts her leg, giving him the cue to lift her up. He does, he puts his hands on her bum, holding her up against the wall, and his tongue traces the edge of her bottom lip.

She's determined, and she's the one to deepen the kiss first. The feeling his tongue warm and soft against hers provokes that familiar rush inside her chest she should be used to by now, except she isn't, and it makes her wonder why, out of all people, he's the only one who's succeeded into making her feel like this again, after a long time.

When she feels she can't hold herself up anymore she puts an unstable foot down, her leg somewhat trembling, then the other, but she keeps her body pressed against his, the idea of parting from him making her ache everywhere. He bites her lip (she knows it's his way to make her understand just how hungry for her he is) and when they part their breathing is rushed and he's towering over her and he lifts her up again, now with his strength so that she doesn't even have to make the effort of holding herself up.

Her arms thrown around his neck and her legs hooked on his hips, she leaves kisses on his jaw. She can't see his eyes open wide, looking up at the ceiling as a suppressed grunt escapes his mouth, but she feels his jaw clench under her lips and he's now letting her fall on the couch where she'd pretended to be asleep not long before.

They both stop, Mimi sitting on the couch with her hands gripping the cushion and Taichi standing in front of her, his legs barely touching hers. None of them smile and she's the first one to break eye contact; her eyes look up, registering how some of his hair has escaped the bun (he passes a hand through his locks when he realizes where she's looking), then roam down to his arms, the flexed muscles, his hand reaching for hers.

Her lips curl up.

"Do you have it?" Her voice comes in a hoarse tone, but that's not the reason why he's grinning.

"Who says we're gonna do it?" He questions her and her expression falls before she can register that he's just messing with her. She visibly flinches, and he breaks into laughter that would normally make her outburst into giggles as well if it wasn't for the fact that he'd sounded so serious. She furrows her brows, her arms crossing over her chest and she slides over on the couch to the right corner, shooting him a look. He tries to stop, but seeing her so wounded over a stupid joke does nothing but amuse him. He dives for the couch, falling right next to her and embracing her waist with his arms, leaning with his head on her legs.

"Are you upset?" He looks up at her, still fighting a chuckle. She frowns at him.

"Why would you say something like that?" She argues back, scolding him; he tightens his grip on her when she tries to push him away and his face turns to her upper thigh, his mouth opens and he lightly bites her through the tights she's wearing. He turns his head her way right after, showing her a playful smile.

"It's cute how you really want to bone me." Taichi says, and she smacks him on the back of his head before her eyes shoot up with annoyance. He fastens his grip, shaking her lightly to make her look at him again, and when she does (and she still has that unamused pout drawn on her face) his right arm unhooks to reach her neck with his hand. He pulls her to him, her back bending to approach him, and when her face is close to his he draws light circles on the spot of her neck where his hand his resting.

"Don't worry," He breathes so close to her she can feel his lips grazing hers as his mouth moves when he speaks up. "I really want to bone you, too."

Truthfully, she shouldn't find that romantic. But it's Taichi, and she knows she can't expect much from a twenty-three year old who's the asian version of a college frat boy, except more caring, and nice, and goofy, but still not ideal for thoughtful speeches. So she takes what she gets, and if that means him telling her "I would bone you" (she makes a mental note to ask Yamato to give him a crash course on poetry) (she deletes the mental note soon after when she realizes she can't ask him that if they're not supposed to tell the others anything) then she's happy. Truly, it makes her forget why she'd been upset just a moment before.

"You do, now?" She whispers, inching towards him so that their lips brush. He smiles against her, fixing his glance on her just as she does the same. Taichi nods with his eyes closed and he presses his mouth further against hers, smacking multiple kisses on her lips; she tries to escape him, but he keeps smiling and keeping her close, his grip strong on the back of her neck, and she gives in, breaking into giggles.

He moves swiftly, releasing the grip on her waist to pull her down, causing her to lay down; he hops over her, his face hovering hers and he offers her a smirk as he wiggles his eyebrows. She turns her face to the right, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth to hide a chuckle. He takes her hand in his and puts it away, and when she faces him again she's surprised to find a completely different expression painted on him from just a couple of moments before: he's looking at her peacefully, taking regular deep breaths, his eyes gazing at nothing but her own.

For a moment she feels lost. She mirrors him, doing nothing but staring at the warm chocolate shade of his irises, and the corners of her lips raise when a memory from years before, when she'd realized for the first time just how much she finds that particular shade nice, comes up. He doesn't respond to her smile, though: his look falls on her lips, and he soon covers the distance between them by kissing her once again, and then again, and then he's tightening the grip on her hand while his body presses against hers and she's back to feeling ravenous.

By this point, she's usually already pretty much gone. She's the one to slid her hand under his shirt before he can do anything, and he takes it as a cue to remove it. She doesn't waste time, taking off her sweater and her shirt altogether, and his arms are already around her to catch her and ease her down on her back again. She spreads her legs to make space for his body and soon enough he's pressing his groin against her; she sighs when she finally feels him, even with the layers of clothing still between them, and the thought of him, like that, makes her lightheaded.

Mimi almost doesn't take note that's he's sliding off her tights from being too focused on the feeling of having him _this_ way. She aches for his kisses, and she's glad when he reaches for her face, planting a wet kiss on her mouth only to travel down her neck, sucking gently on each spot he touches with his lips. Her back arches up to find him, and he embraces her with an arm, pulling her closer as he thrust.

Feeling the need of more, her hands grab the waistline of his pants; he doesn't stop kissing every inch of her skin, instead letting her unbuckle his pants and slide them down as far as her arms can reach. When she caresses him through the layer of underwear, a groan escapes his mouth; she opens her eyes to look at him, but his face is buried under her jaw, and she can only take a deeper breath as she keeps stroking him.

It doesn't take long for him to take control again. He whispers something in her ear, something she doesn't quite get. But it distracts her enough for him to straighten himself, to take both of her hands in his, and he places them over her head and holds them there with his left one. Her eyes snap open again when she feels his other hand travel down her stomach, tracing the line from her bra to her belly and then down, down, until he's lifting her skirt up and brushing the outlines of her panties just as he'd done earlier during lunch that day.

Mimi lifts her hips up in an attempt to get closer to him, to get him to ease her need, but her motion's only outcome is him looking up at her again as he shakes his head, grinning, before he releases his grip on her wrists. Her hands reach for his face as soon as they become free, and she pulls him towards her to kiss him hungrily, to make him understand just how badly she needs him.

Taichi is quick to deepen the kiss, his right hand resting on Mimi's flat stomach while he thrusts, the two layers of their underwear still separating them. He feels her warm under him, and the way she's trying to take control of the kiss, her moves bald and decisive, almost drives him over the edge. His hand slides behind her back and he presses his body against hers one last time, keeping the pressure for a couple of seconds until he hears the faintest sigh against his lips.

Mimi feels him parting slowly from her and she doesn't open her eyes until the moment she can't feel his lips over hers anymore. When she looks at him, he's sitting back, his eyes still fixed on hers. His hand caresses her skin, tracing a line from her waist to her hip as he moves back to reach the back pocket of his pants, still only rolled down to his knees.

She makes a movement to sit up and reach for him, to help him get off the clothing, but it only takes a flashing look from him to make her stop on her track and stay still as he gets rid of his pants, not after grabbing the wrapped condom from the back pocket. He holds it in his fist and he leans down again to kiss her on the mouth, his eyes open just like hers: she knows what he's about to do, and him not closing his eyes is his silent way to ask her permission. Yes, Taichi, you can.

There's no nod, no movement but his left hand reaching down her panties and sliding them off first, then her skirt; he's sitting back on his knees in front of her, but she's not watching him. She hears the sound of the aluminum wrapping paper being torn, and Taichi moving to remove his boxers, and when she draws her gaze back on him, his arm is reaching for her, the palm of his hand turned up waiting for her hand to hold it. Mimi takes it, she holds it firmly, and he pulls her up helping her to sit up.

When she gets on his lap, facing him, she waits a couple of seconds before lowering herself on him to savor the intimacy and familiarity of the moment, registering on the back of her mind how nice it is to know he knows how to make her comfortable, as if he knows her to her very core. He passes a hand through her hair, pushing behind her ear a wavy strand that was falling over her eye, and as he does so he leaves a soft kiss on her cheekbone.

Before she moves, she reaches for his hand, entwining her fingers with his in an attempt to feel more confident, to know he's really there. When she starts lowering her hips down, he helps her. She can't see him trying to read her expression, her glance is fixed up on an indefinite spot on the white wall of his living room, trying not to focus too much on the familiar feeling of something tearing.

"Does it hurt?" He asks her, his words painted with concern.

"Just a little." She's honest, and they've done this enough times for him to know the answer already, yet she still finds herself surprised at how he never skips the question, and at how real the preoccupation sounds in his words ever single time.

"It's okay." She says again, this time linking her look with his as she reaches all the way down with her hips. She offers him a smile, her forehead falling against his, and he caresses her cheek one last time before closing his eyes and reaching her lips with his.

He's always gentle at first. He's gentle in a way you wouldn't expect from someone who appears so rough and messy. He places both his hands on her hips, and he guides her up and down together with him, thrusting into her barely moving at first, then fastening his pace as he feels her relax her grip on his skin.

That's when he knows she's back to being comfortable, and that's when she knows he's going to pick her up and lower her down on her back on the couch, his body hovering over hers, silhouette strong and defined covering her delicate one as a shield from the world.

He had told her one time, he didn't like when she was on top. It had taken her a while to really understand why, and it had taken him just as long to actually explain the reason.

"I feel you far away when you're like that." And only when she'd been at home, under her duvet, she'd realized the meaning of his words. The next time, she had let him lead her, work her, protect her.

As he's on top of her, she hooks her legs around his hips to allow him deeper inside her. His face is buried in the crook of her neck, breathing against it and tickling her skin, sending a tingling feeling down her body. She breathes with parted lips irregular breaths, trying to find his hand with hers, grasping it almost violently by how her nails scratch his skin, and taking it down to place it over her pulsating spot. He knows what she's asking him, and he's fast to unclasp his hand from her hold to start rubbing her heated spot as he keeps sinking into her.

He earns a muffled moan from her, so low he would've missed it if he hadn't been so focused on everything about her: the way her chest rises and hits his with every single thrust, how her fingers slightly twitch when she tries to find an anchor in him, the sound of her interrupted breaths as he slightly shifts like _that_. He feels his blood rushing to his head, making him lightheaded.

"Turn around."

His tone is hoarse, words left hanging in the electric air, and Mimi's eyes shoot up. She sits up with some difficulty, his words replaying in her head making it hard for her to grasp reality. As she bends her knees she feels him coming closer to her to leave a trail of kisses on her neck, making it naturally bend; her long hair, now tangled, falls to the side.

She's about to turn just a little more but he's already inside her, distracting her actions as she suddenly feels him more, feels him better and a moan escapes her lips. He puts a hand on her hip, letting it rest against her skin with no hesitation; his other hand reaches her hair, fingers tangling around the long faded pink locks and he's finding it hard not to lose the abysmal amount of control he's got left and not let himself go. He catches the way her lashes flicker up and down almost lazily, her eyelids closed shut every time he tightens the grip of his hand on her skin (she's so tiny sometimes he's afraid he'll damage her if he's not careful enough) and he thrusts deeper, lowering himself down and down until his chest collides with her back and his hand has to travel down her, hovering her stomach only to find its way to her clit, pressing the spot and pushing again.

Her fingers curl against the couch cushion and she moves her hips to get just the right friction with his hand; he takes the cue and when he starts rubbing just like she made him do her shoulders fall and she has to bite her bottom lip not to cry out loud. All it takes is for him to whisper against her ear, the hoarseness of his voice telling her how this affects him just as much as her, words leaving his mouth an octave lower, lips brushing her lobe sending shivers down her spine. Then she is on fire and he's gasoline, and she comes undone.

As she feels the familiar wave washing over her, her hand grasps his left one, still busy taking care of her most needy spot, holding onto him almost violently as if his touch is her only proof. As if his hold is what keeps her steady, preventing her from crushing down.

He knows what her motion means, and he keeps himself inside her for some seconds, his face hidden against her upper back, lips parted slightly and teeth grazing her rosy skin, before removing himself from her. When he sits back he takes her with him, his hands helping her straighten her back and reach him; she's slow to react, letting him lead her against him, closing her in an embrace that she escapes from only after a few deep breaths.

"What are you doing?"

He watches her gently scold his arms and turn around to face him, taking his head between her shaking hands that feel so unsure against his heated cheeks. She shakes her head so slightly he would've been left wondering if she'd moved at all if he didn't know she's doing so on purpose, in order to get his full attention (as if she needs those kind of shenanigans to have him this way), and she whispers a "shh" while never backing away from his look.

She moves her leg over his and she doesn't shy away from his glance, not even when she lowers herself down on him. Their eyes entwined, she caresses his toned chest, slightly pressuring him to back down and lay on his back while she's on top, moving at a slow pace and only letting him grab her hands when his shoulders hit the couch. With their fingers tangled, she allows herself to fasten the movement, observing how his face changes, his eyes once reading into her irises now shooting up and then shutting down, his eyebrows furrowing when her hips circle him.

It's the way he tightens his grip on her hands and the guttural moan that breaks the sequence of his deep breaths that make her head run wild, the thought of herself being the reason why he's coming apart under her touch telling her not to stop until he reaches his limit, and when he does he pulls her to him, locking her inside his embrace, whispering words destined to be left hanging in the electric air as she moves her face to capture his lips between hers.

He savors her in lazy motions, massaging her back up and down, reaching her bum and squeezing her skin. Her lower body frictions one last time against his, and when she removes herself from under his grip to lay down next to him she lets her head lean on his shoulder, her body lying on its side in the small space left between his body and the edge of the couch.

"You comfy?" He asks her, turning his head to her and flashing her with a smile. Mimi tugs him with a finger on his chest, showing him a pout.

"I'd be more comfortable if I had more space."

It takes her by surprise, and she only has time to wonder what the grin that's spreading across his face is all about before he pushes her and she tumbles down the couch, finding herself sitting on her bare bum on the floor (thank God there's a carpet), looking at him with her mouth open, unable to find words to tell him. So she stares blankly at him, and it's mainly the lost expression on her face, together with the whole situation, that makes him crack up.

And maybe she doesn't really know why she's giggling as well since it's not even funny, and maybe laughing at each other shouldn't be what couples do after spending the past who-knows-how-much time doing each other, but they're not a couple, and they're both not so fond of rules in general, and maybe the sound of each other's laugh is their romantic background music, and he really doesn't need to hold her against his chest, and she doesn't really need to caress his face, not when both their eyes are so alive.

So giggles turn to chuckles, and she's fast to grab his forearm to pull him weakly towards her, her snickers making it difficult to put much strength into her motion, but he rolls down the couch anyway, joining her on the floor tackling her waist and burying his head in her stomach, snorting against her skin and tickling her.

And he might look ridiculous like that, hair somehow still in a loose bun, trying to playfully bite every inch of her stomach, tickling her as she tries to catch a breath between giggles, and she might not be at her best, locks messy and tangled, her eyes covered by strands of hair that she can't move because she's so focused on not dying of laughter, and they might not be a couple, still keeping this secret from their friends, but this - whatever it is that is going on - is sparks in the night, and it makes him feel alive, and it makes her feel so light, and they're both selfish enough to keep it to themselves.

Besides, they're cautious, and it's not like they ever denied anything: they've just become really good at avoiding the whole truth.


End file.
